"What did you find out?"

"Well, to be honest, she's not an easy woman to track down... She ran into some trouble with the law at seventeen, but the records are sealed up pretty tight..."

"... So you found nothing...?"

Regina muses silkily as she glares at the slippery reporter. Her eyes fall upon the slim folder he holds in his hand and she plucks it away from him deftly as he opens his mouth to form some pitiful excuse.

"No, not nothing... I was able to contact one Katelyn Matthews; Miss Swan's cellmate when incarcerated. I spoke to her over the phone and explained I was a local reporter in Emma's current hometown and wanted to do a report on the young woman... I left out my reasoning for fear of questions- simply stating I was trying to build up a picture of her past- but it would appear Miss Matthews is rather more forthcoming than our dear Emma ... Perhaps the opportunity to be quoted in print? Who knows. She emailed me across a collection of documents- She and Emma moved in together for a couple of months once Miss Swan finished serving her time- which I've printed off as you can see... I have yet to look through them myself, it was merely a PDF file I ran to print, but anything of use to you, will be in there..."

Raising an eyebrow, the brunette flicks distractedly through the thin black folder before glancing back up irritably.

"Yes. Well. That will be all, Sydney."

"Very well... I... I hope you find what you're looking for..."

"As do I... But I doubt it."

"...I hope you find what you're looking for..."

"And what exactly is it you're looking for?"

The Mayor mutters to herself under her breath. Truth be told, she has no idea, but she refuses to believe that one so caustic as the blonde could live a life free from any number of shameful events and altercations. Still, it is most vexing to her that the circumstances of Emma's incarceration are under proverbial lock and key, as surely the reasoning behind her predicament would provide perfect smoke to add to the fire she plans to ignite.

As it is, she must search for another stain on the younger woman's already tarnished reputation.

Whatever it is. It doesn't matter. She just wants the bitch gone.

Settling down behind her desk, she flips open the slim folder Sydney provided, and runs a finger pensively over her full lips as she scans the first page.

Dear Mr Glass.

I hope this finds you well. As requested, I put together some stuff about Emma. I mentioned this on the phone to you, but she and I were never actually all that close, so there isn't really much to tell... I must say I am surprised you are looking to write about her? Emma always seemed the private sort, if you know what I mean.

I guess people change.

I managed to find some letters and photos from our time living in Tallahassee, which I have attached as a PDF file to the email. Sorry it's not much- Emma always preferred the other side of the lens.

Please do let me know if any of this gets published. It'd be cool to receive a copy. (My own little piece of the fame! Ha ha!)

Regards,

Katelyn.

"...Weren't actually all that close... Now why doesn't that surprise me?"

The brunette muses aloud as she flips over the neat black font of the email to reveal several scanned letters and a series of photographs. She finds she has to squint in order to decipher the messy scrawl of the blonde's handwriting, despite Katelyn having blown the scribbles up to fill the page. She is able to make out enough to discern that the younger woman had drawn up a do-it-yourself document to act as a written agreement to her side of staying with her ex-cellmate; signing her name spikily at the bottom to assure her new housemate- and, given the nature of the paperwork, the owner of the residence- the right to kick her out should she feel the need.

Regina finds herself unsurprised that the blonde would put her trust in such a risky document rather than take any sort of responsibility of her own.

Deeming the rest of the scrawled nonsense to be useless she frowns, aware that it is much less likely she will find the sort of incrimination she needs within the images. She almost opens her mouth to mutter as to the idiocy of supplying photographs at all, but as her eyes fall on the first of the printer-ravaged pictures she finds herself intrigued.

Katelyn has supplied Sydney with three photographs all together, including a little typed description beneath each of them pertaining to when and where the image took place. The first is a slightly shaky picture taken in a rather stark little room, labelled 'Moving day, Tallahassee, '03'. Emma stands with one hand on her hip and a paintbrush held loosely in the other as she gives the camera a disapproving glance. Her hair is long, but rather ratty, and her face is bare but tanned; her cheeks ever so slightly haggard despite her youth in the image. The brunette ponders on how many days would have passed between the young woman leaving the correctional facility and this image.

She imagines not very many.

The second picture causes the Mayor to frown, as the blonde winks back up at her theatrically, her slim fingers holding up several ketchup-tipped french fries as a paper crown rests hatefully upon her curls which appear in much better condition having been snipped back so that they feather down to graze her shoulders. Regina is unsure exactly what 'BK' stands for, but she dislikes the thought of the younger woman wearing any sort of crown, regardless of the initials emblazoned across it. Cardboard or not. The small blurb to the image simply reads 'August 23rd (My birthday), Emma BK, '03'.

Turning to the last image, the brunette stills as her eyes widen with curiosity. This final picture has been printed off on its own separate page, and she is unsure if this is the reason for its larger size or whether the computer is at fault. Either way, she finds herself accosted with an A4 image of the blonde as she stands in a very peculiar manner beside a soapsud encrusted car. She has never traveled away from the small, sleepy town over which she presides, but she has seen enough of the world through television and in books to know that it is rather unusual for one to perform an activity such as washing a car in the attire the younger woman wears in the last image.

The blonde's tight physique- unfairly tight, as this is surely only a good several months after the birth of her son- glistens wetly, bright white bubbles flecking her bare thighs, as she smiles back from the page wearing nothing but a yellow bikini top and washed out denim shorts that barely provide the coverage of underwear. Her hair is once more long and golden, offset prettily by a deep Florida tan, and her lips are pulled back in a flash of white teeth which seems alarmingly predatory.

And just a little sexual.

Frowning, Regina sits back in her chair as her eyes continue to linger on the curious image of the woman she has come to despise in just a few short weeks.

Despise... Yet look forward to her predictable insolence and sarcasm with a kind of sadistic anticipation.

The expression Emma pulls in the image lying on the desk reminds the brunette of the fiery look the younger woman had given her after taking a chainsaw to her apple tree, and the fact that such a recollection stirs within her an inexplicable dark excitement causes the Mayor's brow to furrow as she subconsciously wets her lips, her dark eyes remaining trained on the scantily clad young blonde.

'Helping out at the Sorority car-wash for fun! Panama City, '04'.

Denim shorts resting ridiculously low on sharp hips, showing off the lean muscle tapering deliciously south. A light spattering of dark freckles dappling shoulders, chest and stomach. Painted red lips and sharp white teeth. Tousled blonde tresses bleached sensationally white by the sun. Green eyes glittering and lashes dark.

"How inappropriate."

Regina starts at the sounds of her own voice, a little disconcerted to say the least by the complex surge of emotions the image before her has conjured. She is surprised by the heat that flushes her cheeks, and its sweet cousin playing dangerously somewhere much further south. She is not so stubborn so as to refuse the notion that the way the younger woman's slim frame is clad so minimally might be the cause for such a reaction- after all, she has always found lust in beauty- but she is simply disconcerted to harbor any sort of fancies for the hateful young blonde at all.

Hateful, but unnervingly desirable.

She sighs, as it isn't the first time she's thought such things in regards to Storybrooke's newcomer. Upon meeting her the night she had brought Henry back from Boston, she had found Emma to be irritatingly attractive. The sort of attractive that had made her wish for the first time in years for her power back; itching to force and manipulate those slim white fingers and pretty pink lips to do her bidding. Finding her later then, glaring haughtily from behind metal bars much like a caged lioness, hadn't helped much either.

Neither had the fact the ridiculous woman seemed to have had no qualms about answering the door in her mother-loving underwear.

Scant scarlet offsetting pale thighs.

Rolling her eyes, the brunette pushes the image away from her irritably, pursing her lips primly as she becomes aware of the feeling of damp silk between her legs.

She rises briskly, her abdomen warm with a familiar ache, and she scolds her body for its mutinous reactions. Moving gracefully through the room on sharp black stilettos, she slips through the door and into a grand en-suite bathroom, eyes flickering as the lock clicks metalically shut behind her. Studying herself in the ornate, gold-framed mirror that hangs above the sink, she slips out of her sinfully tight pencil skirt slowly; allowing the rich fabric to fall to the white tiles of the floor.

"This is ridiculous."

She hisses, her dark eyes flickering to her reflected lips as she speaks, her cheeks rouged prettily and her chest flushed beneath her shirt. She imagines her reaction is as much pent up frustration with the blonde as it is attraction, but the kittenish expression gracing Emma's fine features in that curious image- carwash...- have elicited a pure and undeniable lust she is willing to go with. She is just able to make out the slightly darker silk that blemishes her ivory lingerie from her wetness, and plucks the incriminating wisp of fabric swiftly away, allowing it to flutter to the floor between her legs. Her slim fingers find her heat and she closes her eyes as they slip sweetly between silken folds.

"Regina?"

Emma doesn't bother waiting for an answer as she lets herself into the brunette's office, deeming the sharp rap of her knuckles against heavy wood to be more than sufficient. She huffs irritably when she finds the room to be empty, aching to give the darker woman a piece of her mind after finding her car clamped yet again.

Honestly, for someone claiming she wants me the hell out, she's making it pretty damn hard...

She recognizes her current predicament as yet another curious aspect to the little games the Mayor seems hell-bent on playing, and as much as she may bitch and moan, there is something to the cunning spite of it all that makes her heart beat just that little bit faster with inexplicable excitement.

Growling at the obvious fact she stands alone in the grandiose office, she turns to leave before her eyes flicker to the sheets of paper that litter the desk. She frowns, padding over slowly as incredulous recognition dawns on her.

She studies the large photograph which lies forlorn on the Mayor's desk for what seems like a decidedly long time, trying to work out what in the hell the brunette would want with such an image, and how she even came by it in the first place. Flicking through the rest of the documents, she rolls her eyes, fury settling in on her swiftly as she understands what the darker woman is up to.

"You fucking bitch..."

She hisses angrily, her cheeks pinkening as she bites her lip and tries to decide what to do.

A low moan from behind the heavy door lining the far wall has her glancing up, startled, and she frowns as she stalks a little closer. Listening in for just a little longer, her eyes widen as comprehension dawns on her. Turning tail, she all but sprints from the room, trying both to figure out and repress what she's just encountered.

By the time she reaches her car waiting patiently outside, a slow smile has found her lips as her eyes glitter dangerously.

"Game on."